


happy new year

by youaremarvelous



Series: Yuri!!! on Ice Tumblr Drabbles [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Pre-Canon, detroit bois, drunk shenans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 23:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremarvelous/pseuds/youaremarvelous
Summary: “Me and Viktor would have beautiful babies,” Yuuri says because his brain to mouth filter is degraded by a night of trying to forget the past year’s failures via throat-burning alcohol and the aftertaste of lime.Phichit hooks his arm into Yuuri’s and plucks the lopsided glasses from Yuuri’s face. “Obviously, that’s just science,” he agrees, hanging the glasses on the collar of his coat.





	happy new year

**Author's Note:**

> for the touch prompt: piggyback ride

“How are you so good at walking in those?”

 

Phichit smiles at Yuuri— it’s somewhere between the ‘you poor thing’ smile and the blushy, one-dimpled smirk that stretches into the corner of his mouth whenever he’s been pursuing a compliment and is finally rewarded for his efforts. “Being sober helps,” he says, clacking along confidently, shoulders square and spine straight in a pair of four inch, sparkling sequined platform heels.

 

That seems weird to Yuuri even as he trips over his own feet, and… _oh, why does he only have on one shoe?_ His head might be swimming with New Year’s champagne punch and probably (definitely) a handful too many jello shots, but he can’t remember a time when being sober helped anything. It certainly didn’t help him win over Viktor’s affections when he’d met him during last year’s Grand Prix series, if avoiding eye contact and ducking into bathroom stalls to catch his breath in his hands constituted meeting.

 

Drunk Yuuri got into shenanigans that sober Yuuri often found embarrassing in the critical light of morning and head-pounding sobriety, but sober Yuuri also panicked over stupid things like talking to the man he used to jack off to when he was thirteen and burping up a little champagne into his shoe while waiting for Phichit in a strangely sticky corner of the frat house living room turned dance floor, so what does he care.

 

“Me and Viktor would have beautiful babies,” Yuuri says because his brain to mouth filter is degraded by a night of trying to forget the past year’s failures via throat-burning alcohol and the aftertaste of lime.

 

Phichit hooks his arm into Yuuri’s and plucks the lopsided glasses from Yuuri’s face. “Obviously, that’s just science,” he agrees, hanging the glasses on the collar of his coat.

 

“The best science!” Yuuri pats at his face, distantly wondering where his glasses went. “I’m gonna marry his stupid face!” Yuuri shouts at the star-studded sky, and then—because his voice is already ratcheted up in tune with his drunken enthusiasm—breaks out in a one stanza version of  _Chapel of Love_. Phichit starts harmonizing with him on the second run through because he’s beautiful and smart and this is what best friends are for.

 

They’re also good for transit, Yuuri realizes when he soaks his sock in a slushy puddle and Phichit tuts and forces Yuuri into climbing up on his back for the rest of their trek back. “Frostbitten toes aren’t a figure skater’s friend,” he says, and who is Yuuri to argue? Phichit knows everything about friends, obviously, which is why he’s so good at being one.

 

Yuuri hides his face in Phichit’s neck, shielding his eyes from the blinking Christmas lights illuminating their path. When he’s sober he’ll realize how impressive it is for Phichit to be lugging his taller, heavier, drunken-er ass down an icy sidewalk in four-inch heels, but for now, he closes his eyes and lets the comforting sway of Phichit’s back drag him to sleep.

 

When Yuuri wakes up a rumpled mess the next day to the critical light of morning, head-pounding sobriety, and an unhealthy dose of embarrassment, he’s thankful to be curled up in his own bed. His face is stuck to the pillow with drool, but at least it’s  _his_  drool and  _his_  pillow.

 

Phichit is spooned up behind him—even, sleepy breaths upsetting the fine hairs at Yuuri’s nape— and it feels safe and warm in a way Yuuri hasn’t since stepping off the plane in America.

 

It might not be a kiss from a beautiful Russian, but it’s not a bad start to a new year, all told.

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable [here](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/post/168719818853/6-phichit)


End file.
